


be my detonator

by Trojie



Series: Bandom Bingo 2017 [8]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Danger Days Era, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, World Contamination Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 02:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: Frank and Ray have a trick to keeping their edge on a long tour.





	be my detonator

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySmutterella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/gifts).



> For my Bandom Bingo card's free space. 
> 
> Yet another token of appreciation for the entirely delightful LadySmutterella, who's always very gracious about me flinging her this sort of ridiculosity in the wee hours of the morning, who's been amazing with this bingo in general, and who has had a very full on last few weeks and deserves ... porn, apparently, because that's just the kind of girl I am? 
> 
> <3

Soundcheck on opening night, and Frank's double-checking his setting, the tightening ping-ping-ping-ping of his high E and the intermittent chunk-chunk noises of him stomping his tuner on and off drawing Ray's attention even from the other side of the stage. Ray shakes his hair out of his face and straightens up (his back pops, fuck, he needs to watch out for that, stupid shitty bus bunks) and watches the way Frank moves between pedalboard, head unit, microphone, pedalboard, over to swap out guitars. He's walking a little careful. He turns back to his microphone and Ray's got a good angle from here by his own stack; he can see the semi Frank's hiding behind his guitar.

As if he can feel Ray's gaze, Frank looks up. His eyes are fucking smouldering. Ray shivers, and grins, and lifts his chin just to watch how it makes Frank mirror him. Ray loves this on-tour game, _loves_ it, because there's nothing like playing with someone who'll meet you every step of the way.

Frank licks his lips. Ray's dick twitches. It's only three o'clock in the afternoon. On the first night. They've got so much further to go. 

***

Frank's got good muscle memory. It helps him play guitar like a professional when he's distracted, but at the same time, it's the reason he's distracted in the first place. 

There are five thousand odd people in front of him and all he can think about is the phantom feel of Ray's solid, hot, rock-hard body behind him, Ray's wide palm tracing down him along the same line his guitar strap presses against now - a thick stripe of pressure and tension from his shoulder to his hip where the body of his Epiphone leans. 

There's a bruise there on the crest of bone that Frank knows Ray didn't actually mean to leave. Frank likes that he did, though, even though it's distracting him now, because it means Ray isn't as unaffected as he seems to be. 

Frank doesn't know how he does it. It's been twenty four hours and Frank isn't seventeen anymore, he should be perfectly able to concentrate on playing _Destroya_ and he should be capable of paying attention to what's happening around him, but he isn't. He's letting his fingers do the hard work. His brain is too busy rerunning tapes across his skin. 

When he steps up and finds the microphone on autopilot for his backing vox, the _uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh-uhhh_ noises that ooze out of his throat aren't improv, they're replays. 

Gerard fists his hand in Frank's hair during Ray's solo, and Frank almost goes to his knees, between the unexpected sting of Gerard's fingers against his scalp and the warm familiarity of Ray's in his ears.

***

Ray can feel Frank's cock starting to twitch, almost pulse, in his palm, so he lets go, pulls his hand back out of Frank's jeans. They're both fully clothed. Bus rules, but there are ways of getting around them. 

Frank thrashes, pants in his ear. 'Fucking -'

'Shhh,' says Ray, feeling the noise catch on his palate. 'Hey c'mon, s'okay, Frankie.' He glides his palm down Frank's back, pulls him close so they're body to body. 'Doesn't it feel good?' he whispers, and Frank nods, shuddering down off the peak he reached without falling. 

He's so hard against Ray's hip. Ray's wet in his underwear, he can feel it, beading and sweating, and it would be so easy to shuffle Frank a little higher, hitch him in a little tighter, and just frot against him til they both made it. It would be so easy. Ray's hand settles low, palm over Frank's tight, gorgeous ass, a perfect handful. Ray's always kinda been into the contrast between them - Frank's so compact, coiled, wound up and, god, so easy to push if you know how, and Ray's just … someone told him he reminded them of their dog, once, said he seemed easy-going and eager to please. 

And the thing is, that's not a bad impression to give off, Ray can roll with it, if that's what people think of him. He likes being seen as laid-back, for a given value of laid-back. 

But when it comes to music, to the band, that's just not him. He's a perfectionist. He'll own it. Hell, he's proud of it. And Frank - still shuddering under his hands, still jerkily rolling his hips even though he's being good, playing keep-away - Frank is always, always right there with him. Music or sex, either, both (not that there's that much separation between them when they're in the studio or on tour), Ray always knows Frank's on the same page as him. 

This tour is important. This _album_ is important. They need as much fucking fire in their bellies as they can get to carry it through. 

So Ray takes hold of Frank's hip, now that he's stopped making those desperate gasping sobs, and slides his other hand back into Frank's pants. 'Shhh,' he says, stroking as gently as he can. 'Fuck, you're so fucking good. You gotta tell me when you're close,' he says, and he kisses the corner of Frank's mouth where it's hanging open, homes in on the old scar from the healed-up lip ring hole. He tongues at it. Frank, slack-jawed and too-pretty, squeezes his eyes shut. 

'Close,' he growls, and Ray lets go but doesn't take his hand away this time, leaves it down the front of Frank's jeans, and fuck, God, he can feel his own zipper digging into his own dick and Frank's zipper biting the back of his hand. 

He wants to roll over and dry-hump Frank into the mattress so bad he can _taste_ it.

They stare at each other in the dark for a long, tense moment, and Ray … fuck, he fucking loves this guy, because Frank reaches down and pulls Ray's hand out of his jeans, and presses a soft kiss to the centre of his palm, and says with steel in his voice, 'Two more weeks.'

'Two more weeks,' Ray echoes. 

***

Frank makes it three more days before his resolve starts to get shaky in the foundations. It always goes like this, he fucking likes this thing they do on tour so much, and the whole fucking point of it is not coming, is stopping, waiting, wanting and not having, but … it's so hard to remember that when you've got someone's hand on your dick and their cock riding your ass. 

They're breaking so many bus rules and Frank doesn't _care_.

'Please,' Frank pants into his pillow. 'Want you to fuck me.'

'No,' says Ray gently, and he's leaking all over the place, smearing against Frank's skin, bumping so close to Frank's tight, untouched hole, it makes Frank want to swear and spit and roll the pair of them over so he can just fucking climb on Ray's cock. 'Not yet, remember?'

His hand is sweaty and slick with the mess Frank's making, and he slows his strokes down. Frank bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. Ray's palm is warm and hard against him, slipping over and over, slow and rough. Frank can't help bucking against it. 

'Ray, fucking _please_ , I need to come,' he gasps. 'I need to, I can't think, I'm fucking useless, you make me so horny all the freaking time -'

'Shhh,' Ray says, stilling his hand, squeezing just a little and pulling Frank back into the curve of his body, so that his dick is cradled against the hot, damp, tender crease of Frank's ass, and then he stops moving entirely. 'You're not useless, you're on fire, man, you're playing better than ever.' He flexes his fingertips against Frank's dick.

'Let me come,' Frank groans. He can feel the sweat prickling his scalp, and it isn't even that hot in here. 'Please, please Ray. Just once. We can start over, we still have weeks -'

Ray takes his hand off Frank's dick and catches his wrists instead. He wasn't gonna touch - except he totally was, he realises dizzily when the tightening band of Ray's fingers and thumb halts the movement he didn't realise he was making. He shudders. 

Ray rocks his hips, just a little. Frank hasn't been fucked in too long, and the pressure of Ray riding his ass like that makes him long for it. 'Put it in me,' he begs, changing tactics. 'I won't - I swear, I'll be good, I'll be so fucking good, I'll stay - I won't come, I swear. Just put it in me, let me feel it. Please, fucking _please_.'

'No,' says Ray again. 'Not a chance, Frankie.' But he doesn't stop. 

Frank sobs in his throat. 'Just - not even the whole - you don't even have to fuck me, just put it in me a little bit, please, fuck, please Ray, I'll do anything.'

Ray groans into Frank's hairline, the rounded swell of bone behind his ear. His lips brush up against Frank's earlobe, and how the fuck is that so erotic it makes Frank's hips jerk, Frank will never know, but it is. 'Ray,' he says again, as if there's room for anyone else, any ambiguity at all, in his head right now. 'Ray, fuckin' - Ray I _need you_.'

'You got me,' says Ray, and this time it's him shuddering, voice crackling. 'You're gonna make me - shit, Frank -' and he pulls his entire body back so there's cold terrible space between them. The only place they're touching now is Ray's octave-and-a-half fingers stretched around Frank's wrists. 

Frank's body protests like it's being tased, he goes limp and shuddering and his dick tries so fucking hard to get there by itself, a phantom pulse of orgasm washes through him, electrifies him from head to toe but he _doesn't_ , thank fuck and Christ. 'Oh, oh fuck,' he breathes, tears in his eyes. 'Ray, I nearly - shit, that was close -'

'Me too,' Ray's voice is thick and raw. Frank rolls over, pulls free, and keeps a careful distance between their bodies while he buries his face in Ray's throat, and they come down off it together, breathing wet and ragged into each others' skin. 

'Travel day tomorrow,' says Frank, after a beat, as if Ray doesn't know. 

Travel days are the worst when they're doing this, because everyone's up in everyone else's business, there's no privacy, and they can't do a damn thing to let off steam. Ray grins tiredly against Frank's cheek. 'I know,' he says. 'Gonna have to keep your hands to yourself.'

'Fuck you,' says Frank softly, unable to hide the fond warmth in his tone. 

Ray sniggers. 'Nope.'

***

Ray can always tell when Frank's reached the end of his rope, because he tries to turn the tables. It's not as if Ray's like, officially in charge of the stuff they do together, it's not that formal, but he does have … maybe an easier time of sinking into it than Frank does? Put it this way, it's usually Ray holding Frank off, not the other way around. So maybe that does position him in the driver's seat more. 

Anyway, the point is, Frank doesn't like feeling like he's not in control. There's always a point where he bites back, fights. 

This time around, this tour, it's in a photoshoot. 

Shoots now are a lot less of a pain in the ass than they used to be. Sure, Gerard's still kind of dictating the dress code thematically, but at least they're wearing like, mostly normal human clothes these days. And they don't have to match any more, that's always a relief. And no-one's fucking with Ray's hair.

The photographer motions them all to crowd in, and Ray doesn't even wait to be prompted, he cants himself sideways into a lean to get his head mostly level with Gerard's, and arranges his face into something approaching 'thoughtful' that hopefully doesn't slew either into 'pissy' or 'constipated'. He can't do Mikey's bass-player pout, or whatever the fuck it is Frank and Gerard are both capable of doing with their eyes so they look like punk Bambi; he almost misses the days of fake blood all over his face because he didn't have to worry so much about emoting when he was trying to look like a corpse. These days he just goes for 'pensive' and leans into whoever's got organised into being on his left hand side, and waits it out. 

Gerard's comfy to rest your head against, anyway. Ray slings his arm around Gerard's hip and lets the photographer do their thing. On his right side, Frank crowds close. 

A hand finds Ray's ass. Ray shifts and tries to aimlessly and totally randomly stand on Frank's foot. Frank moves his foot out of the way. 'Stay still, please,' says the photographer a little wearily. 

Ray freezes. Frank … squeezes. 

Ray is going to regret this pair of jeans. 

Frank's hand slides into Ray's back pocket, and his fingers find the hint of purchase he needs to start kneading at Ray's ass. 

The thing is, it isn't even Ray that Frank needs to fight against - it's himself, it's that part of him that gets hot and bothered and wants to roll over. Higher-brain-function Frank fucking loves this whole on-tour chastity schtick, it's just lizard-brain Frank likes orgasms a whole lot, and likes messing with Ray, too.

Ray hides his face in Gerard's shocking-red hair and waits til the photographer turns around to do something with the lights, and then kicks hard at Frank's ankle. Frank pulls his hand free and makes a 'whaaat?' face at Gerard and Mikey, who've both turned to see why Ray's jiggling around. 

'C'mon guys, please, just another few shots and then we'll be done,' pleads the photographer. The four of them settle back into their semi-heap. Frank keeps his hands to himself after that, but it's too late. Ray keeps his hands in front of his crotch. 

Frank mouths 'sorry' at Ray when no-one's looking. Ray just shakes his head, because the truth is, he … kind of likes getting messed with.

***

They do not, they absolutely do not, fuck around in the green room. But they do dick around in the green room, which means no-one ever bats an eyelid at a bit of giggling and a bit of shoving, and definitely not at something as innocent as Ray and Frank bent over their fretboards going over guitar parts with their heads so close together that Frank can feel wayward fluffy strands of Ray's hair tickling his cheek. 

'One more week,' says Ray softly, practically in Frank's ear, picking his way delicately through something so fucking Brian May it's unreal. Frank watches the way his big fingers move on those thin strings, and thinks dirty thoughts. 

'Five days,' is what he comes back with, because he wants to be clear about this. 'Five more nights, and then we've got two days off,' he says. 

'They'll notice if we disappear for two whole days,' says Ray. 

Frank snorts. 'Not a problem. I'm not gonna need two days,' he says. 'Trust me.'

Ray's eyes are on Frank's hands. Frank smirks a little and starts to play _Na Na_ , just to watch Ray's expression go that little bit slack, like it always does. 'You have a hard-on for the pentatonic scale,' he murmurs. 'Nerd.'

Ray rolls his eyes, but he's already joining in. 'Takes one to know one,' he says, and yeah okay, but it's not the scale, not really, and they both know it.

That's when Mikey shuffles over with his pretty sparkly Mustang (Frank likes to give him shit about his not-so-secret glam rock aspirations, but Frank also likes to noodle around on the thing whenever he can steal it, it's so much more fucking comfy to play than a P-bass, he can't deny it), and so bullshitting a practice actually becomes a real practice, and then a good warmup, when Gerard finally drains his mug of tea and joins them. 

Ray keeps on looking at Frank all the way through, though, and he looks at him a lot from across the stage all night, too - watches his hands, and it's not like he needs to. They've gone entire fucking gigs without looking at each other a single time, because they practice like crazy and they have good sound guys and when all's said and done they _know_ each other. They don't need to watch. But tonight, Ray does. 

Frank … maybe puts a little more into his fingerwork and how he holds his guitar against his body than he needs to, watching Ray watch him, and in the back of his head, he gets the littlest inkling of an idea. 

***

By the time the hotel night finally rolls around, Ray's _hungry_ for it. Frank's been a shit for days, but it's Frank and despite the fact that he's actually been a semi-well-behaved adult human for years now, everyone still remembers when he was a little shit full-time, so they never seem surprised when he reverts. Ray didn't have an acting-out phase he can lean on now to blow off a little steam, so he stuffs down the part of him that wants to do like Frank does and climb the furniture and chew on the scenery as much as he can. He behaves.

Well. He might potentially get a little more into Mikey's space than he needs to given the sizes of stages they're playing on this tour, but Mikey's cuddly, Mikey rolls with it, and Frank's been going to his knees in front of Gerard every night so Ray being affectionate with his bass player isn't even a drop in the PR bucket. 

Ray kisses Mikey's cheek and plays his solo practically hooked around Mikey's hip and the neck of his Mustang, and Mikey grins sideways at him and eyes Gerard, who grabs Frank roughly, and it's just like old times, hamming it up on stage mostly for the kids who watch them like they're lost at sea and seeing two dudes kiss is throwing them a lifeline, but also just to rile up the assholes who throw bottles, because fuck 'em, My Chem have never been interested in what they think. 

By the time the lights go down, Ray's kind of hot and bothered. He's _been_ hot and bothered, ebbing and flowing but always there, for two fucking weeks, but right now he's half mad that he and Frank even have to go offstage on opposite sides. 

It's not like there's not a perfectly good Marshall stack _right there_ that he could fuck Frank up against, for God's sake. 

He shakes his head a little to try and jolt his actual brain in his actual skull back into the driver's seat, and somehow manages to get shot of his guitar, find a bottle of water, thank the crewmembers as they stream past him towards the stage to start packdown, and get back to the green room without doing something untoward. Like texting Frank and trying to persuade him that they don't have to wait til they get to a room with a lockable door. 

But he he doesn't. He behaves. He behaves all the way through cooldown, and slinking out the side door, and the inevitable mob, and signing things; he behaves the whole time, even though Frank is right there next to him. But Frank takes signing shit and talking to fans seriously. Even their fucked up little game can't shake that, and that's one of the reasons Ray loves the guy. 

By the time they get bundled into the van, Ray's almost calm again. Mikey's practically asleep on his shoulder, with Gerard leaning into him mumbling about -

'No, Gerard,' Ray says, rolling his eyes. 'It's too late for coffee.'

'I'm sick of tea,' says Gerard. 'And it's not like it does anything to me any more.'

'Except keeping you from being homicidal,' says Frank, on Gerard's other side, as far from Ray as it's possible to be. 'Let him fucking drink his coffee, Mom. He's a rock star.'

'He's a fucking menace,' Ray returns, but despite the fact that he's got Gerard's adrenal system's best interests at heart he knows he's gonna lose this one - they really don't have anything on tomorrow. If Gerard can't sleep til 6am and then doesn't get up til dinner time, who even cares?

'I am an adult,' says Gerard with dignity. 'I can pick my own late night beverages.' He then ruins the illusion by adding, 'plus I've got, like, so many comic books to catch up on, dude.'

Ray rolls his eyes. 

'Sleep is for the weak,' says Gerard, just as they pull up to the hotel and scramble out of the van. 

'Yeah, Ray,' says Frank softly, hanging back to say it close to Ray's ear. 'Who needs sleep, huh?'

'Not us,' says Ray. 'Although. Like, being serious for a moment, definitely us. We're not as young as we used to be, dude.'

Frank just smirks at him before lengthening in his stride and heading into the hotel. Ray's eyes can't help falling low. Ray's dick, which hasn't really been at less than half-hard for a while now, decides it's definitely as young as it used to be and it can absolutely do without sleep.

***

Ray's really easy to push into things and kiss til he starts breathing funny. Frank likes taking advantage of that. He has a whole plan for tonight that starts with laying Ray out on a mattress and keeping him down with his body.

They traipse out of the elevator and split off to their respective rooms (and how fucking good is it that they're big enough to get their own damn rooms now? Frank showers for fully half an hour every single time they have a hotel night) and he dumps his bag out on the bed and sorts out the supplies he managed to pick up in between interviews and soundchecks and shows over the last few days. 

It's nothing big or elaborate. Just a couple of useful things. Frank strips off and hops into the shower, and then when he's used up every tiny bottle of shampoo and related substance he can find, he towels off and pulls his jeans back on and slips things into his pockets. 

When he knocks at Ray's door softly, it takes a moment to open. Ray's got a towel around his hips and his hair is wet and heavy. It's all Frank can do to wait til they're both inside before he reaches for him, skims his hands up Ray's hard, stocky body. 

'When did you get so fucking hot?' he asks, smirking, because he knows it makes Ray squirm and because he likes to take every possible opportunity to remind him that he's gorgeous, seeing as the tabloids love to overlook him in that regard. Frank curls his hands around the back of Ray's neck. 'Why are we still letting you wear shirts?'

'Shut up,' says Ray roughly, ducking his head to kiss Frank's mouth. 

'Make me,' says Frank against his lips, and starts pushing, and doesn't stop til Ray's flat on the bed. He gets one hand cradled under the nape of Ray's neck, the base of his skull, kisses open mouthed and slow, and fishes in his pocket with the other hand. Even though he tries not to, he can't help the little jangle when he finally gets what he wants detangled from his keys and cellphone and wallet chain. Ray opens his eyes, focuses. 

'Are - Frank, are you serious?'

Frank sits up a little, and jingles the handcuffs in front of him. They're _not_ serious, they're pink and fluffy and he got them in a store that also sold like, cheap saucepans and weird off-brand GI Joes, but they're … a statement. 

'Too chicken?' he asks, just to be a shit, dangling them and watching Ray watch them twist. The chain links are wire rectangles with ends that close but don't overlap. Thirty seconds of pulling would bust the whole lot wide open, and Frank's pretty sure a decent pair of kitchen scissors would cut through the actual cuffs themselves. 

Ray makes a face. 'It's just. My wrists, y'know?'

Frank puts the handcuffs in Ray's open, outstretched palm. 'I know,' he says, because he does know. Of all the things they can't afford to fuck up, either of them, their hands are at the top of the list. 'We don't have to,' he says. 'But … it'd be really hot. And I promise I'll take care of you.'

Ray's already feeling the cuffs out, tugging on them, looking at all the things Frank looked at before he bought them, and Frank waits. Then Ray lets out a breath, and hands the cuffs back. 'Okay,' he says. 'Yeah, Frankie. Okay.'

Frank slides them around Ray's wrists and clicks them shut, edges the tip of his finger between fluff and skin to check nothing's too tight, pinching anywhere. He doesn't loop them around anything - he doesn't want Ray to be trapped, just … controlled. Ray half sits up and tugs a little at them, testing. He stares down at the soft pink encircling his wrists, and then bites his lip and looks up at Frank.

'What are we doing then?' he says. 'Since you're in charge.'

Frank pulls Ray's hands above his head by the handcuff chain and pushes him down so he's outstretched, hands against the headboard, flat to the mattress. He's so fucking hard under Frank that Frank can't help squirming against it, warm pressure against his ass, like a promise he's gonna finally, finally get what he wants tonight. 

Eventually.

'You're gonna stay still and let me ride you til you come,' he says, shuffling backwards so he can get at Ray's towel. 

'Til - wait, til _I_ come?' Ray says, a little breathy, a little high-pitched, with Frank's hands on the terry-cloth. 'What about you?'

'I'm gonna keep going,' Frank says. 'As long as I can hold off. As long as you can stand it,' he adds, getting off the bed and pulling the towel with him, flinging it sideways without bothering to watch where it lands, because _damn_ but the view just improved. Ray's hard as nails, standing up proud from his body. Frank's mouth fucking waters. He tears at his own clothes, because goddamn, he needs skin, he needs to fucking touch, wants to rub himself all over Ray like a fucking cat, and Ray makes an aborted, desperate little noise and moves like he's gonna sit up. 

'No, hey,' says Frank, dropping his shirt on the floor and reaching out to push Ray down by the shoulder. 'Stay still. Wait for me, Toro. You're the one who's good at waiting, remember?'

Ray shudders under his hand. 'Yeah, well. It's easier when you've got your pants on, Frank. Jesus Christ.'

Frank scrapes his hand through what's left of his hair (the last cut-back was kind of brutal, but he likes the contrast of the almost-buzzcut after the shoulder-length mop) and preens a little. Ray sags against the bed and closes his eyes, breathes hard through his nose. Frank fishes the lube out of his jeans pockets and then climbs back on top. Ray makes a noise but doesn't open his eyes.

'Your call,' Frank says conversationally, spreading his thighs wide and flicking the cap on the tube open. 'I mean, I get it if you're having … control issues. But I think you might wanna watch this.'

He puts his best little shit impression into his tone, wanting to rile Ray up as much as he can, but he doesn't actually mean to make the noise he makes when finally he gets a wet finger up his ass. It's embarrassing, for a split second, and then oh, god, it's worth it, because the way it makes Ray's eyes fly open and fix on him is fucking intoxicating, almost more than finally getting the pressure he's been craving so long. 

'Jesus, Frank.' Ray's still stretched long and low under Frank's thighs, his arms straining and corded behind his head, but he's got his head tipped up so he can see, and Frank's body shudders under the weight of his gaze. Frank's good at acting like shit doesn't get to him, but … god. He's never been able to hide that he wants Ray's attention. 

And he's a lucky fuck, because every time Frank looks around, Ray's there looking back.

Still, that's gonna hurt, crooking his neck up like that, so Frank crouches down and starts to kiss him, little short kisses, pushing him back against the mattress. They both go breathless fast, and Frank's got two fingers inside himself and is having trouble doing both things at once, when Ray starts to thrash his head around, chasing kisses, pulling his knees up like he's trying to push Frank closer. 

'I want you,' Ray says hotly. 'Frank. Fuckin' - Frank, get on my fucking dick.'

Frank bites at Ray's mouth and grins. He loves when Ray's good-guy layers finally peel back for him. 'That's not very nice,' he says. 

'You don't want nice,' Ray growls, thrusting his hips up. His cock bumps Frank's ass, Frank's hand where he's fucking himself open. 'I know you, Frankie, you don't want nice, you want to get pounded.'

'Hell yeah I do.' Frank pulls his hand free and braces himself on one arm, fumbles behind him for Ray's dick. 'So stay fuckin' still.' 

Ray grits his teeth and visibly, tangibly forces himself flat against the bed. Frank can feel him trembling with the effort. The first push of Frank against him nearly breaks them both - Frank's breath explodes out of him like a gut punch, the first splay of being pushed into always feels so good, so _much_ \- and Ray swears under his breath, his arms jerk like he wants to grab something. 

'Ah-ah,' Frank pants, reaching down and sliding his hands around Ray's wrists again, sneaking his fingertips against the fluffy edges to make sure they haven't somehow magically tightened up or anything. The movement jostles him, nudges Ray a little deeper, a little deeper still. Frank's eyes shudder shut and he spreads his legs flat-wide and pushes down harder at both ends. 

'Shit,' Ray breathes. 'Oh, shit Frank, I dunno if I can -'

'You can,' says Frank, working himself down harder, because he wants it, he can hold back on coming, maybe, but he can't hold back on how bad he wants Ray in him. 'You fucking can, I know you can, you held off for two fuckin' weeks, man, you can hold off a little bit longer.'

'Frank, Frank, shit, _Frank -_ ' Ray's voice climbs in pitch and urgency and his fingers are clenching and unclenching and his dick is jerking inside Frank already even as Frank's ass finally makes contact with the cradle of Ray's shaking, not-thrusting hips. 

'You feel so fucking good,' Frank groans, split open to the core, so fucking wide . 'Oh my fucking god, Toro, the fuck do you even walk around and not trip over this thing? Shit. Fuck, okay, okay,' and he pulls himself together enough to pull himself up, hands planted flat on the mattress either side of Ray's head, fingers tangled in his sweaty hair, thighs shaking and burning. 'Oh fuck. Ray, hey, c'mon big guy, hey, look at me -'

Ray's eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is hanging open, like he's already come, but Frank's pretty sure he hasn't yet. 'You can,' Frank breathes into his ear, leaning down. 'When you need to, Ray, you can come, I wanna feel you come in me and I'm not gonna stop, okay, we don't have to stop, I'm gonna keep going, alright? You just … you feel so good -' every third word is on the beat of Frank's breath, forced out of him by the rhythm he's finally got going. 

Ray whimpers, vibrating all down their joined bodies, and Frank nearly loses it all over the both of them. 

'Yeah, Ray,' he says, nosing along Ray's cheek, kissing him sloppy, over and over, hips rolling. 'C'mon. C'mon, Ray, fucking - wanna feel it, c'mon. Come for me, Toro. Been so good to me, kept me on-game, made me feel so fucking good for two weeks, man, c'mon. You deserve to come. Come for me?'

Ray's hips start to lift. His eyes are closed again but he turns his face to catch Frank's lips, shoves himself against Frank everywhere he can get purchase. 'Always gotta run your mouth off, don't you,' he pants. 

Frank rocks down against him hard once, twice, clenches, bites Ray's lower lip and fuck yes, _fuck yes_ Ray tightens every muscle he's got, rams himself up against and into Frank and starts to come. God. The way he pulses and twitches inside Frank makes Frank's body break out in a sweat. 

Eventually he untwists, untightens, goes boneless into the mattress and Frank stays still as long as he can, sparks flying up his spine. 

'Fuck, I'm close,' he murmurs, mostly to himself. 

Ray snorts a weak, shaky laugh. 'Isn't that the point?' he says, and he rolls his body a little. Frank drops his forehead to Ray's chest and hikes his hips to meet the movement. Ray hasn't gone soft, not really, but he's shivering under Frank again already. 

God. Frank wants to get off so bad. Fuck teasing any more, fuck going all night, fuck - fuck this going any longer than the next two goddamn minutes. He's sweating and wet all over, and Ray's looking at him with huge eyes and wild hair and a red, red mouth and he's still got his hands behind his head. It must be driving him crazy, Frank can see how restlessly he moves his fingers, but he doesn't test it. 

Sometimes Frank gets a little overwhelmed with how much Ray trusts him - how much Ray trusts him with. It gutpunches him in the studio sometimes, it knocks him to his knees on stage, and in bed - fuck. Really, the whole band is Gerard's and no-one would argue that, but there's a level where Frank is Ray's and Ray is Frank's and no-one, not even Gerard, could get between them. 

Frank pushes himself back up and starts to ride Ray properly, calves and thighs tight to the sides of him. 'Need it,' he says thickly, desperate. 'God, need you so fucking bad.'

'Hurry,' Ray says, hoarse and soft, in between the noises he can't help. 'It's - too much, Frankie, fuck, it's - it hurts, or … or it's too - _fuck_.'

Watching him dig his carefully-trimmed nails into his own palms makes Frank even fucking hotter. Control, always fucking control with Ray Toro, even when he's wild it's within limits. Frank's so close he thinks he might spin off into the corner of the room, he might explode, there might be nothing left of him when he's done. He sits himself up breathlessly, tips his head back, eyes closed, just fucking willing his body on, when there's a snapping noise and suddenly there's a huge, hot hand around his dick and fluff against his belly. 

Ray jacknifes himself up, hikes himself so he can get his other arm around Frank's waist. 'I got you,' he rumbles, fucking up into Frank hard. This close, eye to eye, Frank can see how much it costs him, how overstimulated he is, and yet he's still doing it, with his teeth buried in his bottom lip and his gaze burning hot. 

Frank's body twists, he's pushed too far, he can't - he can't hold off any longer, the molten-hot feeling is rushing through him and he presses himself back against Ray's forearm to get the perfect angle and surrenders himself to -

Ray's hand catches tight around the base of his cock. Frank jerks like he's been sucker-punched. 

'Shit, shit, shit fucking Christ, Ray, no, c'mon -' his body seizes and melts and flows, it's like the orgasm is trapped in him and fighting to get out but it can't break the boundaries of his hot, wet skin. 'Ray please, _please_ -'

Ray slides his mouth over Frank's, kisses him half breath, half tongue, all careless intensity, and then says, 'Yeah, Frankie, okay,' and starts to stroke him again. 

He doesn't even complete the first downstroke before Frank's over the edge and gone. 

***

Frank wakes up spooned in Ray's arms and god, he's so warm and comfortable he almost doesn't notice how gross he is, or how sore his thighs are. 

'Mmfdfg?' Ray says behind him. They didn't pull the curtains properly last night - the light slanting in is cutting across both their faces. Frank rolls over, buries his face in Ray's collarbone and feels Ray nuzzle into his hairline. 

'Go back to sleep,' Frank says. 

'Mmm,' says Ray. 'Am asleep. Gonna blow you when I wake up.'

Frank wriggles closer, enjoys the feel of naked skin on skin. 'Better make the most of it,' he mumbles. 'Still got Europe to go.'


End file.
